


A Timely Reminder

by dracoqueen22



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, References Lost Light #5 and #6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25455421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Rung is used to being forgotten and overlooked, but it’s nice to be remembered now and again.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 101





	A Timely Reminder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Popodoki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Popodoki/gifts).



Rung has learned not to expect much from, well, anything to be honest. He’s used to being forgotten and overlooked. He’s used to being needed but not actually wanted. He’s used to drifting in the background.  
  
Occasionally, he uses it to his advantage. Avoiding unwanted attention is the one positive to being ignored.  
  
So when Ratchet stumbles up to him, his plating hot and reeking of battle, while he wraps Rung up in an embrace, Rung’s more than a little surprised. Because’s Ratchet’s field is warm and relieved, as if he’s missed Rung during his brief mission with Rodimus and the others, off into the unknown.  
  
Rung cycles his optics, freezing in the wake of the unexpected affection, rattled to his core.  
  
“Thank Primus,” Ratchet vents against Rung’s audial, squeezing tight enough for Rung’s armor to creak. He’d plunged straight through the throng of those left behind, beelining for Rung as though he’d had optics for no one else.  
  
Other fields wash over Rung then, heavy with relief and affection, a hand patting his elbow in passing, but the warmth of Ratchet’s embrace is more than Rung has felt in a long time.  
  
“What’s this about then?” Rung asks with a startled laugh. He returns the embrace, offering Ratchet’s back a few awkward pats.  
  
“It’s a long story.” Ratchet pulls back, hands on Rung’s shoulders, the curve of his lips a small, haunted smile. “I’m glad to see you.”  
  
“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” Rung says.  
  
Ratchet chuckles with a raw vocalizer and says, “I’m not sure if you’ll believe even a bit of it.”  
  
And it’s nice, to have this reminder of his and Ratchet’s long-standing friendship. Nicer still since Ratchet’s returned from a long absence. Rung has missed him dearly.  
  
Cybertronians are a social species, and Rung will only admit to himself how much he has craved personal interaction. He knows enough not to take his loneliness personally, but that doesn’t make it easier to bear.  
  
The sudden outpouring of mechs coming to speak to him, or offer him a kind word, or a handshake, or a hug, is a surprise. A confusing, but pleasant surprise.  
  
He hears later, of course, what happened in the Functionist universe, but he hadn’t thought it would have any bearing on their current reality.  
  
It’s nice to be wrong.  
  
Rewind comes to him later, Chromedome in tow, to shake Rung’s hand, and tell him how much of a hero is in his spark. Chromedome closes one of Rung’s hands in both of his, squeezing warmly. They both lean in like they intend to embrace him before they change their minds and say instead:  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Rung tilts his head. “I haven’t done anything.”  
  
“You have. I just don’t think anyone ever noticed,” Rewind says, and he taps his head, his lens briefly catching in the overhead light. “I’ve got it all up here.”  
  
Rung scrubs around his chin, adjusts his weight, processor moving too slow to understand. “We are not the same mech. Our histories are extraordinarily different.” Anti-Functionist Rung, after all, had been far braver than Rung can ever imagine himself to be.  
  
“History isn’t the only thing that defines us,” Chromedome says, and he gives Rewind a look Rung can only describe as smitten. “Otherwise, what a mess we’d all be.”  
  
They’re right, Rung supposes. He has to admit, if only to himself, that seeing what he’s capable of in another universe, makes him think there’s more he’s capable of now.  
  
They leave, after badgering him to join them for energon later. Rung smiles in their absence, like a heavy drapery has removed itself from his shoulders. He hasn’t felt this light in years.  
  
He thinks that’ll be the end of it until he walks out of his hab-suite the next day, and right into Drift’s arms. Rung is lifted into a hug only slightly less crushing than the one Ratchet had given him.  
  
“My turn,” Drift says, his affection less surprising, as he’s always been more tactile than Ratchet whose prickly exterior only hides the softer bits.  
  
“Drift, put me down,” Rung says, exasperated. He’s touched, truly, but he likes his feet firmly planted on solid ground, thank you very much.  
  
He’s set on his feet, gentler than anyone would think a mech with Drift’s reputation capable, and hands clap down on his shoulders. Drift’s grinning, his optics bright, a massive weight gone from his shoulders as it has been since he returned with Ratchet at his side.  
  
“You used to be as big as the moon,” he says.  
  
Rung adjusts his glasses, which had been knocked askew. “You’re thinking of my other self.”  
  
“True,” Drift says, and he squeezes Rung again, as though he wants to drag him in for another embrace but thinks better of it. “How are you, by the way? Hearing all that must have been… shocking?” He tilts his head, like it’s not the word he’s thinking of, but the closest he can come to it.  
  
“It’s a reputation I can’t live up to,” Rung admits.  
  
Drift shakes his head and follows through on his earlier impulse, pulling Rung into another hug. “You already have,” he says.  
  
“He’s not wrong,” Ratchet agrees, gruff and out of nowhere, walking much more quietly than a mech of his bulk should be capable. “Good deeds don’t always have to be the big ones, old friend.”  
  
Rung smiles, smashed against Drift’s chassis as he is, before the mech pats him on the back and releases him into a sidealong hug of Ratchet’s. “I suppose that’s true.”  
  
Ratchet looks down at him, expression unreadable. “Come on. Let’s have a look at you. I’ll bet you can do with a bit of maintenance.”  
  
“Can’t we all,” Rung says.  
  
“Yes, but you first,” says Ratchet.  
  
There’s no arguing with Ratchet. Rung has known him far too long to think otherwise.  
  
So he lets Ratchet poke and prod and scan and weld and top off his fluids, fluttering around him with genuine concern and gruff affection. It’s how Ratchet shows he cares, and Rung’s too warmed by the affection to protest overmuch.  
  
And then Rodimus bursts into the medical bay, Minimus Ambus on his heels, and the both of them whisk Rung out from under Ratchet’s growls and Drift’s laughter.  
  
“What is this about?” Rung asks, flustered and off-balance.  
  
Rodimus shoves something into his hands, and it takes Rung a moment to recognize the carefully wrapped item -- an unopened miniature replica of the Ark-12. It is not a ship on which Rung has served, but he can appreciate the sentiment.  
  
“I dunno if any of yours survived the mutiny,” Rodimus says with a tic in one of his orbital ridges. “And I know this can’t replace them, but I saw this and thought you might like it.”  
  
“How thoughtful. Thank you, Rodimus,” Rung says, smiling as he tucks the box away, to be opened and explored later.  
  
Rodimus scrubs the back of his neck, looking a little trapped, as unused to quiet gratitude as he is.  
  
“We also wanted to ensure your well-being,” says Minimus, looking up at both of them, hands tucked behind his back. “It has been a difficult time for all of us.”  
  
Rodimus slings an arm over Rung’s shoulder, tugging him against Rodimus’ side, against the warmth of his armor. “Don’t wanna neglect anyone, you know,” he says, and though he’s smiling, there’s a tightness in his optics, a blend of anger and grief and regret and worry. “How are you?”  
  
“I’ve been better,” Rung says, honesty being one of his strong suits, and knowing it benefits Rodimus better than hiding behind a mask. “But I think the same could be said for all of us. Thank you for asking.”  
  
Minimus invites him to discuss more of the Necroworld’s unique traits, and Rodimus promises to be there, and even manage not to complain about being bored the whole time. They send him on his way, and Rung goes to the quiet corner he’s found, newly acquired collectible in hand.  
  
It’s where Nightbeat finds him, amused and curious as he sits beside Rung, and likely resists the urge to help himself to the pieces and solve the puzzle, as easy as it might be for someone of his unique talents.  
  
“Busy day you’ve had,” he says, chin in his palm as he watches.  
  
Rung makes a non-committal noise. “I can understand their interest. Seeing my doppelganger in such a state would have been quite disturbing.”  
  
“Nothing like a little trauma to remind folks of what matters,” Nightbeat says. He gives Rung a pointed look. “You’re important to us.”  
  
Rung slots a piece into place with careful fingers. “I think I’m getting closer to believing that.” He turns the half-finished replica over, thumb scrubbing along the identification stamp. “I used to think I was fine with being alone. It was easier.” He glances at Nightbeat, sidelong. “Now I dare to want something more.”  
  
“I’m proud of you.” Nightbeat grins like Rung’s solved some ancient mystery. “Gonna let us take care of you a little now, doc?”  
  
Rung picks up another piece, and it clicks into place. “So long as I’m allowed to keep doing the same in return.” He runs his finger over the top of the replica. “That’s what friends are for, yes?”  
  
Nightbeat leans in, bumping their shoulders together. “Brilliant deduction, Rung.”  
  


***


End file.
